


Only Common Thread Is Your Disrespect

by apple9131999



Series: The States of America [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Beating, Betrayal, Birthday, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Slavery, Pre-American Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple9131999/pseuds/apple9131999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He woke up in high spirits</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Common Thread Is Your Disrespect

_May 23, 1860- Columbia, South Carolina_

* * *

He woke up in high spirits, grinning broadly at the ceiling of his room before getting out, throwing his blankets off to throw open the nearest window and smile out at the misty morning as the frogs croaked and the birds sang. He could hear the sing of hoes as they moved through the air before hitting the dirt below. On the farthest reaches of his property, he spied the mule teams working, the plows dragged behind two mules that snorted and huffed in the early morning.

As he was dressed, he did not work to cow the smile from his face, pride in himself rising up as he thought back to his childhood. He was 72 today, or rather 131. His pleased air did nothing more than unsettle the slaves helping him get dressed.

“I’ve business in town, today,” he told the overseer as he was helped into his coat. Indeed, Alfred disliked visiting his plantation, his pride and joy. “I suspect I will either be home late or on the ‘morrow.” Alfred was rather fond of his pubs and they would certainly celebrate late into the night. “I trust you to keep this place running as though I were still here,” he said, pausing to don a hat and to bat off the hands of the slave trying to brush his coat off again.

The overseer, Gordon Nash- a fine respectable man not afraid to get his hands dirty-, nodded. “And may I wish you a happy birthday, Mr. Jones. Feel free to celebrate well into the night,” he said, offering a wink.

Alex smiled ruefully. Mr. Nash was a gentleman, that cannot be denied, but he was under the assumption that Alex’s lengthy sojourns to the capital and the national capital were a ruse to cover up his taking a mistress. He was sorely mistaken

“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Nash, but I really must be going,” he said as he stepped out of the house and into the waiting horse and buggy. He pulled out his pocket watch as the driver urged the horse to move. He was meeting with the girls for a late brunch, and then Alfred was to meet him for their annual night of drinking.

He smiled to himself, it would indeed be a good seventy-second birthday.

* * *

“Alexander!” a cheerful voice called out and he turned from where he had been placing his hat and coat to smile at his sister.

North Carolina was sitting at their usual table, her hair curling down her back, her ruffled green dress almost spilling out of her chair. He bent at the waist when he approached and took her hand gingerly.

“Sydney,” he said, a crooked smile on his face.

“Happy Birthday and Admission-Day, my little brother,” she said, her skin crinkling up by her eyes as she watched him take the unoccupied seat.

“I am a year older than you,” he reminded her, no trace of malice in his words, instead just fondness.

She waved her hand lightly and demurely. “Perhaps...”

He looked around, a light easy smile on his face. “Where are Savannah and Chloë?”

North Carolina bit her lip and looked down at her lap. “Savannah claimed an illness and Chloë has been accosted by her governor regarding the convention.”

Well...that was less than _ideal_. No matter. He would simply have to groan about it goodnaturedly to the two of them when he next saw them. Perhaps at Virginia’s birthday.

“The convention? I was not aware that Cholë had much interest in those affairs,” he said taking a sip of the water provided. “I do believe that Breckinridge will do well in the elections. We will certainly gain the upperhand, yet again.” He smiled as North laughed and motioned for a colored girl to fill her tea up again. “To another Southerner in office and good riddance to that useless sap in office now.”

North Carolina raised her eyebrows at him. “You voted for him, did you not?”

He laughed and accepted the tea from the colored girl. “I did, I did,” he conceded. “Though I had no way of knowing how _pacifist_ he’d be, did I? At least he believes in our autonomy. Unlike the Railsplitter the republicans have nominated.”

North Carolina’s eyebrows rose higher still, a faint smile on her lips. “You seem to be in a good mood, today.”

He did not bother to deny it, though he’d like to think that he was always in a good mood around his sister. “How can I not be? It’s my birthday, and I’m having brunch with you.”

North smiled again and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He could smell the powder of her make-up and the stickiness of her lips. She patted his cheek endearingly. “You are sweet,” she conceded. “Chloë is enthralled about Mr. Bell.”

“John Bell is not going to win; Breckenridge has already been in the white house, he’ll win by a landslide, you’ll see.”

The smile that he won for those statements was delighted and fond. He preened in the glow of the smile.

* * *

“You will do well to remember to write to me sometimes,” North was saying as she tied her hat to her head. They were outside of the establishment, waiting on her cart and buggy, that would take her down to his plantation. When he simply nodded appraisingly, she smacked his side lightly. “I mean it, Alexander, I don’t want to come all the way here just to drag you off of your plantation. I’ll see you when you return home.”

He laughed and caught the hand that had smacked him as her driver appeared. He kissed it and helped her into the coach. “I will do my best, Sydney. Take care and go with God.”

“Farewell, Alexander, and happy brithday.”

He shut the door and nodded to the driver as he stepped away from the curb, his hands in his pocket as he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune, tipping his hat at the passing ladies.

It was a good birthday.

He checked the time. It was an hour or so until Alfred said he’d show; Alex would just have to beat him to his game. He was the birthday boy afterall.

The first pub he spied was clouded in smoke and well-dressed men. He emerged himself in the atmosphere, accepting a free scotch from the bartender when he mentioned it was his ‘eighteenth’ birthday.

A rotund gentleman next to him, who seemed to have a taste for wine by the red of his cheeks, roared in goodnatured laughter and slapped him on the back. “Fit to be a man, yet,” he chortled.

The wine was sweet and sour, tickling the back of his throat, but he hammed it up as though it were his first taste, pulling a repulsed face.

The gentleman next to him roared with laughter and waved the bartender over. “Get me a bottle of the good stuff, good man! I’m treating this young man ‘till he can’t see straight!”

* * *

The bar closed many hours and many bottles later. Alex was stuttering down the lane, an arm thrown around the rotund man from the bar- Bernie, his name was, good boy, Bernie. Bernie was singing a song as they teetered through the deserted streets to where Bernie lived with his wife and his two kids- the littlest was sick, very sick, and his wife was thin as a rake and getting sick as well.

At the doorway, Bernie leaned against the jam and slurred, “Y’know, Al- Alllleexx, my fr-frriend, Al, Al list’n tah me- yer a great guy bes’ drinkin’ part’er I had. Hap’-” here he paused to hiccough- “happy birthday, yah rascal.”

“Thank you Bernie,” Alex said with a laugh before sauntering off down the lane, frowning to himself when he felt like something was missing. Maybe he left his wallet or something at the bar. He patted his pockets as he stood under a street lamp. “Hey, Al, you seen my-”

He paused- one hand closed around his wallet, the other thrown out to catch himself against the street lamp as he whipped his head to the side. Alfred wasn’t there.

Sobering immediately, Alex straightened himself up and wracked his brain. Alfred hadn’t even shown up- he’d never got the inclination that Alfred had even stepped foot in any of his territory- especially not his capital.

He felt- well, a mix of things, anger was a large part of it, also disappointment, embarrassment, and hurt. He chided himself against feeling hurt- what was so special about today anyway, it was just the day that he was admitted into _Alfred’s_ stupid union. It didn’t matter.

* * *

He was bristling in indignant anger by the time he arrived at his plantation, just as the time slid over to early morning. He stormed into his house, jerking off his coat- clumsy from alcohol and anger. He was not quiet about his assent to his room, grabbing a nightcap of scotch to down before he surrendered to an irritated sleep.

The door to his room was knocked on softly and he felt North’s presence behind him before she even cleared her throat. He turned and saw her sleep bedraggled state, hair frizzing around her head, eyes bleary and trying to focus in the feeble candle light. “Alexander?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Sydney,” he said softly as he swallowed a large mouthful. It didn’t matter that Alfred had missed his birthday and admission-day. He needn't bother North with his troubles.

“Did Alfred-?”

“-Alfred...went home… you know he doesn’t like to visit us on our plantations.”

North nodded, but blinked at him for a long moment. “What’s your trouble, brother?”

“I was simply insulted by a patron at the bar, I will get over it soon, don’t trouble yourself, sister.” He would get over it- because it didn’t matter at all.

“What did they say?”

“It is of no consequence what they said, it’s not for a lady to hear. Go to bed, Sydney, you needn’t be up so late on my account. I shall retire soon as well.”

She didn’t seem overtly pleased, but she nodded and swept out of his room and across the hall to his spare that he had had done up for her when she would visit.

As soon as she had gone, his hand tightened on the glass in his hand, but he took care not to break the glass. He willed himself to relax his mind and, just as soon as he cleared it, he felt a niggling at his conscience. Someone was moving from his plantation at a fast rate.

He felt a bitter smile creep up his face.

* * *

Later in the day, after the slave had been recaptured and beaten down to new depths in front of his peers, South turned to North and held out an arm cordially as though he had not just been flogging a man half to death.

She accepted the arm and let him lead her in a walk around his flower gardens. She was silent and morose, matching his emotions yet without the exhilaration that came from his adrenaline boost.

“I wish you wouldn’t beat them when I am here, Alexander,” she said softly, “it’s not something a lady should have to see.”

“They have to learn their place, do they not?”

She was silent as she stared off with her blue eyes to the south; she sighed lightly again. “Of course, Alexander.”


End file.
